No. 2. Five cents 



Per Year, Fifty cents 




LbL 




Bnnouncement* 



i$ 



The publishers announce that Little 
Journeys will be issued monthly and that 
each number will treat of recent visits made 
by Mr. Elbert Hubbard to the homes and 
haunts of various eminent persons. The 
subjects for the first twelve numbers have 
been arranged as follows : 
i. George Eliot 7. Victor Hugo 

2. Thomas Carlyle 8. Wm. Wordsworth 

3. John Ruskin 9. W. M. Thackeray 

4. W. E. Gladstone 10. Charles Dickens 

5. J. M. W. Turner 11. Shakespeare 

6. Jonathan Swift 12. Oliver Goldsmith 

Little Journeys : Published Monthly, 
50 cents a year. Single copies, 5 cents, 
postage paid. 

Entered at the Post Office, New Rochelle, N. Y., as 
second class matter. 



Copyright 1895, by 
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 

27 & 29 West 23D Street, New York. 

24 Bedford Street, Strand, London.. 

The Knickerbocker Press, New Rochelle, N. Y. 



} fc~ 



J 



ULL- 

f 1*1 



J- 

£ ^ FOREWORD. 

Litti,^ Journeys does not claim to be 
a " Guide " to the places described, nor a 
biography of the characters mentioned. 
The periodical, at best, will merely make 
outline sketches : the backgrounds being 
washed in with impressions of the scenes 
and surroundings made sacred by the 
lives of certain " Good Men and Great." 

Stray Ws of information, "the feathers 
of lost birds," will here be set down ; va- 
rious personal incidents will be lightly 
detailed, and some facts may be stated 
which have been told before. 

If these random records of beautiful 
days spent in little journeys may brighten 
the pleasant recollections of a few of those 
who have already visited the places de- 
scribed, or add to the desire for further 
knowledge on the part of those who have 
not, the publication will have fully ac- 
complished its mission. 



THOMAS CARLYLE 



29 



One comfort is that great men taken up in any 
way are profitable company. We cannot look, 
however imperfectly, upon a great man without 
gaining something by it. He is the living foun- 
tain of life, which it is pleasant to be near. On 
any terms whatsoever you will not grudge to 
wander in his neighborhood for a while. 

Heroes and Hero-Worship. 



30 



THOMAS CARLYLE. 



i. 

ON my way to Dumfries I stopped 
over night at Gretna Green, 
which, as all fair maidens know, 
is in Scotland just over the border from 
England. 

To my delight I found that the com- 
ing of runaway couples to Gretna Green 
was not entirely a matter of the past, 
for the very evening I arrived a blushing 
pair came to the inn and inquired for a 
1 * meen ister. ' ' The ladye faire was a little 
stout and the worthy swain several years 
older than my fancy might have wished, 
but still I did not complain. The land- 
lord's boy was despatched to the rectory 
around the corner and soon returned with 
3i 



tTbe Ibaunts of 



the reverend gentleman. I was an unin- 
vited guest in the little parlor, but no one 
observed that my wedding garment was 
only a cycling costume, and I was not 
challenged. 

After the ceremony, the several other 
witnesses filed past the happy couple, 
congratulating them and kissing the bride. 
I did likewise, and was greeted with a re- 
sounding smack which surprised me a bit, 
but I managed to ask: "Did you run 
away ? " 

" Noo, " said the groom, " noo, her was 
a widdie — we just coom over fram Kccle- 
fechan" — then lowering his voice to a 
confidential whisper — " We'r goin' baack 
on the morrow. It 's cheaper thaan to 
ha' a big, spread weddin'." 

This answer banished all tender senti- 
ment from me and made useless my plans 
for a dainty love story, but I seized upon 
the name of the place from whence they 
came : 

" Kcclefechan ! Ecclefechan ! why 
that's where Carlyle was born !" 
32 



Gbomas Garble 



" Aye, sir, and he >s buried there — a 
great mon he was — but an infideel." 

Ten miles beyond Gretna Green is 
Bcclefechan. A little village of stucco 
houses all stretched out on one street. 
Plain, homely, rocky, and unromantic is 
the country round about, and plain, 
homely, and unromantic is the little 
house where Carlyle was born. The 
place is shown the visitor by a good old 
dame who takes one from room to room, 
giving a little lecture meanwhile in a 
mixture of Gaelic and Bnglish which was 
quite beyond my ken. Several relics of 
interest are shown, and although the 
house is almost, precisely like all others 
in the vicinity, imagination throws round 
it all a roseate wreath of fancies. 

It has been left on record that up to the 
year when Carlyle was married, his " most 
pleasurable times were those when he en- 
joyed a quiet pipe with his mother." 

To few men indeed is this felicity 
vouchsafed. But for those who have 
eaten oatmeal porridge in the wayside cot- 
33 



Gbe Ibaunts of 



tages of bonny Scotland, or who love to 
linger over The Cotter's Saturday Night, 
there is a touch of tender pathos in the 
picture. The stone floor, the bare white- 
washed walls, the peat smouldering on the 
hearth, sending out long fitful streaks, 
that dance among the rafters overhead, 
and the mother and son sitting there 
watching the coals — silent. The woman 
takes a small twig from a bundle of sticks, 
reaches over, lights it, applies it to her 
pipe, takes a few whiffs and passes the 
light to her son. Then they talk in low 
earnest tones of man's duty to man and 
man's duty to God. 

And it was this mother who first ap- 
plied the spark that fired Carlyle's ambi- 
tion ; it was from her that he got the germ 
of those talents which have made his 
name illustrious. 

Yet this woman could barely read and 
did not learn to write until her first-born 
had gone away from the home nest. 
Then it was that she sharpened a gray 
goose quill and labored long and pa- 
34 



Gbomas Garlgle 



tiently practicing with this instrument, 
(said to be mightier than the sword,) and 
with ink she herself had mixed — all that 
she might write a letter to her boy ; and 
how sweetly, tenderly homely and lov- 
ing are these letters as we read them to- 
day ! 

James Carlyle with his own hands built, 
in 1790, this house at Bcclefechan. The 
same year he married an excellent wom- 
an, a second cousin, by name Janet Car- 
lyle. She lived but a year. The poor 
husband was heartbroken and declared, 
as many men under like conditions had 
done before and have done since, that his 
sorrow was inconsolable. And he vowed 
that he would walk through life and 
down to his death alone. 

But it is a matter for congratulation 
that he broke his vow. In two years he 
married Margaret Aitken — a serving wom- 
an. She bore nine children. Thomas was 
the eldest and the only one who proved 
recreant to the religious faith of his 
fathers. 

35 



Gbe Ibaunts of 



One of the brothers moved to Shia- 
wassee County, Michigan, where I had the 
pleasure of calling on him, some years 
ago. A hard-headed man, he was : sensi- 
ble, earnest, honest, with a stubby beard 
and a rich brogue. He held the office of 
school trustee, also that of pound master, 
and I was told that he served his town- 
ship loyally and well. 

This worthy man looked with small 
favor on the literary pretensions of his 
brother Tammas, and twice wrote him 
long letters expostulating with him on 
his religious vagaries. " I knew no good 
could come of it," sorrowfully said he, 
and so I left him. 

But I inquired of several of the neigh- 
bors what they thought of Thomas Car- 
lyle, and I found that they did not think 
of Thomas Carlyle at all. And I mounted 
my beast and rode away. 

Thomas Carlyle was educated for the 

Kirk and it was a cause of much sorrow 

to his parents that he could not accept 

its beliefs. He has been spoken of as 

36 



Gbomas Garble 



England's chief philosopher, yet he sub- 
scribed to no creed, nor did he formulate 
one. However, in Latter Day Pamphlets 
he partially prepares a catechism for a part 
of the brute creation. He supposes that 
all swine of superior logical powers have 
a " belief," and as they are unable to ex- 
press it he essays the task for them. The 
following are a few of the postulates in 
this creed of The Brotherhood of Latter- 
Day Swine : 

" Question. Who made the Pig ? 

"Answer. The Pork-Butcher. 

" Question. What is the Whole Duty 
of Pigs ? 

"Answer. It is the mission of Univer- 
sal Pighood ; and the duty of all Pigs, at 
all times, is to diminish the quantity of at- 
tainable swill and increase the unattaina- 
ble. This is the Whole Duty of Pigs. 

" Question. What is Pig Poetry ? 

" Answer. It is the universal recogni- 
tion of Pig's wash and ground barley, and 
the felicity of Pigs whose trough has been 
set in order and who have enough. 
37 



Gbe Ibaunts of 



"Question. What is justice in Pig- 
dom ? 

"Answer. It is the sentiment in Pig 
nature sometimes called revenge, indig- 
nation, etc., which if one Pig provoke 
another comes out in more or less de- 
structive manner ; hence laws are neces- 
sary — amazing quantities of laws — defin- 
ing what Pigs shall not do. 

" Question. What do you mean by 
equity ? 

"Answer. Equity consists in getting 
your share from the Universal Swine- 
Trough, and part of another's. 

"Question. What is meant by 'your 
share ' ? 

"Answer. My share is getting what- 
ever I can contrive to seize without being 
made up into Side-meat." 

I have slightly abridged this little ex- 
tract and inserted it here to show the 
sympathy which Mr. Carlyle had for the 
dumb brute. 

One of America's great men, in a 
speech delivered not long since, said : 
38 



Gbomas Garlgle 



" From Scotch manners, Scotch religion, 
and Scotch whiskey, good Lord deliver 
us." 

. My experience with these three articles 
has been somewhat limited ; but Scotch 
manners remind me of chestnut burrs — 
not handsome without, but good within. 
For when you have gotten beyond the 
rough exterior of Sandy you generally 
find a heart warm, tender, and generous. 
Scotch religion is only another chest- 
nut burr, but then you need not eat the 
shuck if you fear it will not agree with 
your inward state. Nevertheless, if the 
example of royalty is of value, the fact 
can be stated that Victoria, Queen of Great 
Britain and Empress of India, is a Pres- 
byterian. That is, she is a Presbyterian 
about one half the time — when she is in 
Scotland, for she is the head of the Scot- 
tish Kirk. When in England of course 
she is an Episcopalian. We have often 
been told that religion is largely a matter 
of geography, and here is a bit of some- 
thing that looks like proof. 
39 



Gbe Ibaunts of 



Of Scotch -whiskey I am not compe- 
tent to speak, so that subject must be left 
to the experts. But a Kentucky colonel 
at my elbow declares that it cannot be 
compared with the Blue Grass article ; 
though I trust that no one will be preju- 
diced against it on that account. 

Scotch intellect, however, is worthy of 
our serious consideration. It is a bold, 
rocky headland, standing out into the 
tossing sea of the Unknown. Assertive? 
Yes. Stubborn ? Most surely. Proud ? 
By all means. Twice as many pilgrims 
visit the grave of Burns as that of Shakes- 
peare. Buckle declares " Adam Smith's 
Wealth of Nations has had a greater in- 
fluence on civilization than any book 
ever writ — save none ' ' ; and the average 
Scotchman knows his Carlyle a deal bet- 
ter than the average American does his 
Emerson : in fact four times as many of 
Carlyle's books have been printed. 

When Carlyle took time to bring the 
ponderous machinery of his intellect to 
bear on a theme, he saw it through and 
40 



Gbomas Garble 



through. The vividness of his imagina- 
tion gives us a true insight into times 
long since gone by ; it shows virtue her 
own feature, vice her own image, and 
the very age and body of the time his 
form and pressure. In history he goes 
beyond the political and conventional — 
showing us the thought, the hope, the 
fear, the passion of the soul. 

His was the masculine mind. The 
divination and subtle intuitions which are 
to be found scattered through his pages, 
like violets growing among the rank swale 
of the prairies, all these sweet odorous 
things came from his wife. She gave him 
her best thought and he greedily absorbed 
and unconsciously wrote it down as his 
own. 

There are those who blame and berate : 
volumes have been written to show the 
inconsiderateness of this man toward the 
gentle lady who was his intellectual com- 
rade. But they know not life who do 
this thing. 

It is a fact that Carlyle never rushed to 
41 



XLbc Daunts of 



pick up Jeannie's handkerchief. I admit 
that he could not bow gracefully ; that 
he could not sing tenor, nor waltz, nor 
tell funny stories, nor play the mando- 
lin ; and if I had been his neighbor I 
would not have attempted to teach him 
any of these accomplishments. 

Once he took his wife to the theatre ; 
and after the performance he accidentally 
became separated from her in the crowd 
and trudged off home alone and went to 
bed forgetting all about her, but even for 
this I do not indict him. Mrs. Carlyle 
never upbraided him for this forgetful- 
ness, neither did she relate the incident to 
anyone, and for these things I to her 
now reverently lift my hat. 

Jeannie Welsh Carlyle had capacity for 
pain, as it seems all great souls have. 
She suffered — but then suffering is not all 
suffering and pain is not all pain. 

Life is often dark, but then there are 

rifts in the clouds when we behold the 

glorious deep blue of the sky. Not a 

day passes but that the birds sing in the 

42 



Gbomas Caclgle 



branches, and the tree tops poise back- 
ward and forward in restful, rhythmic har- 
mony, and never an hour goes by but 
that hope bears us up on her wings as the 
eagle does her young. And ever just be- 
fore the year dies and the frost comes, the 
leaves take on a gorgeous hue and the 
color of the flowers then puts to shame 
for brilliancy all the plainer petals of 
spring time. 

And I know Mr. and Mrs. Carlyle were 
happy, so happy, at times, that they 
laughed and cried for joy. Jeannie gave 
all and she saw her best thought used — 
carried further, written out and given 
to the world as that of another, but she 
uttered no protest. 

Xantippe lives in history only because 
she sought to worry a great philosopher ; 
we remember the daughter of Herodias 
because she demanded the head (not 
the heart) of a good man ; Goneril and 
Regan because they trod upon the with- 
ered soul of their sire; Lady Macbeth 
because she lured her liege to murder ; 
43 



Slbe f>aunts of 



Charlotte Corday for her dagger thrust ; 
I/ucretia Borgia for her poison ; Sapphira 
for her untruth ; Jael because she pierced 
the brain of Sisera with a rusty nail, (in- 
stead of an idea) ; Delilah for the reason 
that she deprived Samson of his source 
of strength ; and in the Westminster Re- 
view for May, 1894, Ouida makes the flat 
statement that for every man of genius 
who has been helped by a woman ten 
have been dragged down. But Jeannie 
Welsh Carlyle lives in the hearts of all 
who reverence the sweet, the gentle, the 
patient, the earnest, the loving spirit of 
the womanly woman : lives because she 
ministered to the needs of a great man. 

She was ever a frail body. Several 
long illnesses kept her to her bed for 
weeks, but she recovered from these, 
even in spite of the doctors who thor- 
oughly impressed both herself and her 
husband with the thought of her frailty. 

On April twenty-first, 1866, she called 
her carriage, as was her custom, and di- 
rected the driver to go through the park. 
44 



TTbomas Garble 



She carried a book in her hands, and 
smiled a greeting to a friend as the 
brougham moved away from the little 
street where they lived. The driver drove 
slowly — drove for an hour — two. He 
got down from his box to receive the 
orders of his mistress, touched his hat 
as he opened the carriage door, but no 
kindly eyes looked into his. She sat back 
in the corner as if resting ; the shapely 
head a little thrown forward, the book 
held gently in the delicate hands, but 
the fingers were cold and stiff— Jeannie 
Welsh was dead — and Thomas Carlyle 
was alone. 



45 



II. 



ALONG the Thames, at Chelsea, op- 
posite the rows of quiet and well- 
kept houses of Cheyne Walk, is 
the "Embankment." A parkway it is 
of narrow green with gravelled walks, 
bushes, and trees, that here and there 
grow lush and lusty as if to hide the un- 
sightly river from the good people who 
live across the street. 

Following this pleasant bit of breathing 
space, with its walks that wind in and out 
among the bushes, one comes unexpect- 
edly upon a bronze statue. You need 
not read the inscription : a glance at that 
shaggy head, the grave, sober, earnest 
look, and you exclaim under your breath, 
"Carlyle!" 

In this statue the artist has caught with 
rare skill the look of reverie and repose. 
One can imagine that on a certain night, 
46 



Gbomas Carole 



as the mists and shadows of evening 
were gathering along the dark river, that 
the gaunt form, wrapped in its accus- 
tomed cloak, came stalking down the 
little street to the park, just as he did 
thousands of times, and taking his seat 
in the big chair fell asleep. In the 
morning the children that came to play- 
along the river found the form in cold, 
enduring bronze. 

At the play we have seen the marble 
transformed by love into beauteous life. 
How much easier the reverse — here where 
souls stay only a day ! 

Cheyne Row is a little alley-like street, 
running only a block, with fifteen houses 
on one side, and twelve on the other. 
These houses are all brick and built 
right up to the sidewalk. On the north 
side they are all in one block, and one at 
first sees no touch of individuality in any 
of them. 

They are old, and solid, and plain — 
built for revenue only. On closer view I 
thought one or two had been painted, and 
47 



XLbc Ibaunts ot 



on one there was a cornice that set it off 
from the rest. As I stood on the opposite 
side and looked at this row of houses, I 
observed that Number Five was the din- 
giest and plainest of them all. For there 
were dark shutters instead of blinds, and 
these shutters were closed, all save one 
rebel that swung and creaked in the 
breeze. Over the doorway, sparrows 
had made their nests and were fighting 
and scolding. Swallows hovered above 
the chimney ; dust, cobwebs, neglect 
were all about. And as I looked there 
came to me the words of Ursa Thomas : 

"Brief, brawling day, with its noisy 
phantoms, its paper crowns, tinsel gilt, is 
gone ; and divine, everlasting night, with 
her star diadems, with her silences and 
her verities, is come." 

Here walked Thomas and Jeannie one 
fair May morning in 1834. Thomas was 
thirty-nine, tall and swarthy, strong ; 
with set mouth and three wrinkles on his 
forehead that told of care and dyspepsia. 
Jeannie was younger ; her face winsome, 
48 



Gbomas Garble 



just a trifle anxious, with luminous, gen- 
tle eyes, suggestive of patience, truth, 
and loyalty. They looked like country 
folks, did these two. They examined the 
surroundings, consulted together — the 
sixty pounds rent a year seemed very 
high ! But they took the house, and 
T. Carlyle, son of James Carlyle, stone- 
mason, paid rent for it every month for 
half a century, lacking three years. 

I walked across the street and read the 
inscription on the marble tablet inserted 
in front of the house above the lower 
windows. It informs the stranger that 
Thomas Carlyle lived here from 1834 to 
1881, and that the tablet was erected by 
the Carlyle Society of London. 

I ascended the stone steps and scraped 
my boots on the well-worn scraper, made 
long, long ago by a blacksmith who is 
now dust, and who must have been a very 
awkward mechanic, for I saw where he 
made a misstroke with his hammer, proba- 
bly as he discussed theology with a caller. 
Then I rang the bell and plied the 
49 



Zbc Ibaunts of 



knocker and waited there on the steps 
for Jeannie Welsh to come bid me wel- 
come, just as she did Bmerson -when he, 
too, used the scraper and plied the 
knocker and stood where I did then. 

And my knock was answered — an- 
swered by a very sour and peevish wo- 
man next door, who thrust her head out 
of the window, and exclaimed in a shrill 
voice : 

" Look 'ere, sir, you might as well go 
rap on the curbstone, don't you know ; 
there 's nobody livin' there, sir, don't you 
know." 

"Yes, madam, that is why I knocked I" 

" Beggin' your pardon, sir, if you use 
your heyes you '11 see there 's nobody 
livin' there, don't you know ! " 

" I knocked lest offence be given. 
How can I get in ? " 

"You might go in through the key- 
hole, sir, or down the chimney. You 
seem to be a little daft, sir, don't you 
know. But if you must get in perhaps 
it would be as well to go over to Mrs. 
50 



Gbomas Carlgle 



Brown's and brang the key," and she 
slammed down the window. 

Across the street Mrs. Brown's sign 
smiled at me. 

Mrs. Brown keeps a little grocery and 
bake shop and was very willing to show 
me the house. She fumbled in a black 
bag for the keys, all the time telling me 
of three Americans who came last week 
to see Carlyle's house, and "as how" 
they each gave her a shilling. I took the 
hint. 

" Only Americans care now for Mr. 
Carlyle," plaintively added the old lady 
as she fished out the keys, c< soon we will 
all be forgot." 

We walked across the street and after 
several ineffectual attempts the rusty lock 
was made to turn. I entered. Cold, bare 
and bleak was the sight of those empty 
rooms. The old lady had a touch of 
rheumatism, so she waited for me on the 
door step as I climbed the stairs to the 
third floor. The noise-proof back room 
where The French Revolution was writ, 
5i 



TZbe Daunts of 



twice over, was so dark that I had to 
grope my way across to the window. The 
sash stuck and seemed to have a will of 
its own, like him who so often had raised 
it. But at last it gave way and I flung 
wide the shutter and looked down at the 
little arbor where Teufelsdrockh sat so 
often and wooed wisdom with the weed 
brought from Virginia. 

Then I stood before the fire-place, 
where he of the Eternities had so often 
sat and watched the flickering embers. 
Here he lived in his loneliness and cursed 
curses that were prayers, and here for near 
five decades he read and thought and 
dreamed and wrote. Here the spirits of 
Cromwell and Frederick hovered; here 
that pitiful and pitiable long line of 
ghostly partakers in the Revolution an- 
swered to his roll call. 

The wind whistled down the chimney 
grewsomely as my footfalls echoed 
through the silent chambers, and I 
thought I heard a sepulchral voice say : 

" Thy future life ! Thy fate is it, in- 
52 



Gbomas Carl^le 



deed ! Whilst thou makest that thy 
chief question thy life to me and to thy- 
self and to thy God is worthless. What 
is incredible to thee thou shalt not, at 
thy soul's peril, pretend to believe. Else- 
whither for a refuge ! Away ! Go to 
perdition if thou wilt, but not with a lie 
in thy mouth, by the Eternal Maker, 
No ! ! » 

I was startled at first, but stood still 
listening; then I thought I saw a faint 
blue cloud of mist curling up in the fire- 
place. Watching this smoke and sitting 
before it in gloomy abstraction was the 
form of an old man. I swept my hand 
through the apparition but still it stayed. 
My lips moved in spite of myself and I 
said: 

" Hail ! hardheaded man of granite-out- 
crop and heather, of fen and crag, of moor 
and mountain, and of bleak east wind, 
hail ! Eighty-six years didst thou live. 
One hundred years lacking fourteen didst 
thou suffer, enjoy, weep, dream, groan, 
pray, and strike thy rugged breast ! And 
53 



Gbe Ibaunts of 



yet methinks that in those years there 
was much quiet peace and sweet content ; 
for constant pain benumbs, and worry de- 
stroys, and vain unrest summons the grim 
messenger of death. But thou didst live 
and work and love ; howbeit, thy touch 
was not always gentle, nor thy voice low ; 
but on thy lips there was no lie, and in 
thy thought no concealment, and in thy 
heart no pollution. 

" But mark ! thou didst come out of 
poverty and obscurity: on thy battered 
shield there was no crest and thou didst 
leave all to follow truth. And verily she 
did lead thee a merry chase ! 

" Thou hadst no Past but thou hast a 
Future. Thou didst say : ' Bury me in 
Westminster, never! where the mob 
surges, cursed with idle curiosity to see 
the graves of kings and nobodies ? No ! 
Take me back to rugged Scotland and 
lay my tired form to rest by the side of 
an honest man — my father.' 

"Thou didst refuse the Knighthood 
offered thee by royalty, saying ' I am not 
54 



tTbomas Carole 



the founder of the house of Carlyle and 
I have no sons to be pauperized by a title.' 

" True, thou didst leave no sons after 
the flesh to mourn thy loss, nor fair 
daughters to bedeck thy grave with gar- 
lands, but thou didst reproduce thyself 
in thought, and on the minds of men thou 
didst leave thy impress. And thy ten 
thousand sons will keep thy memory 
green so long as men shall work, and 
toil, and strive, and hope." 

The wind still howled. I looked out 
and saw watery clouds scudding athwart 
the face of the murky sky. The shutters 
banged, and shut me in the dark. I made 
haste to find the door, reached the stair- 
way — slid down the banisters to where 
Mrs. Brown was waiting for me at the 
threshold. 

We locked the door. She went across 
to her little bake shop and I stopped a 
passing policeman to ask the way to 
Westminster. He told me. 

" Did you visit Carlyle's 'ouse ? " he 
asked. 

55 



Gbomas Carlgle 



"Yes." 

"With old Mrs. Brown ? " 

" Yes, she waited for me in the door- 
way — she had the rheumatism so could 
not climb the stairs." 

"The rheumatism — Huh ! I see — you 
couldn't 'ire 'er to go inside. Why, 
don't you know ? — they say the 'ouse is 
'aunted ! " 

London, August, '94. 



56 



MY DAINTY ARIEL " 

— Tempest. 

XLbc Brfel Sbafcespeare 

It would seem difficult to find place for 
another edition of Shakespeare, but the 
Ariel edition will be found to differ in so 
many respects from any other edition that it 
is thought no justification will be needed for 
its existence. The distinctive features of the 
edition are as follows : 

i. Each play is in a separate volume. 

2. The size of the volume is 3% x 5 inches and about 

a half inch in thickness — of comfortable bulk 
for the pocket. 

3. The page is clearly printed from an entirely new 

font of brevier type. 

4. The text is complete and unabridged^ and con- 

forms to the latest scholarly editions. 

5. As illustrations, the charming designs by Frank 

Howard (first published in i^zi) "five hundred 
in all, have been effectively reproduced, making 
a series of delicate outline plates. 

Now complete in forty volumes, and issued 
in four styles : 
A. — Garnet cloth, each 
Per set, 40 volumes, 



B. — Full leather, gilt top, each (in a box) 
volumes, in box . 



40 cts. 
$16.00 
75 cts. 
$30.00 



$13.00 



Per set, 40 volu 
C. — 40 volumes bound in 20, cloth, in box. 

Per set (sold in sets only) 
D. — 40 volumes bound in 20, half calf extra, 

gilt tops, in box. Per set (sold in sets 

only) . $35.00 

*** Any volume or selection of volumes may be 
purchased in styles A and B. 

" For daintiness, beauty, and convenience, there is 
nothing in the line of Shakespeariana to equal the 
Ariel Shakespeare. Unstinted praise must be ac- 
corded to this edition." — Boston Times. 



G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 

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distinctive Stories of Go*2>a£ 



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IFlo jSnemy 

(But Himself.) By Elbert G. Hubbard, author 
of "One Day," "Forbes of Harvard," 
etc. With 28 full-page illustrations. 121110, $1 50 

Zbc flMag^Sctress 

By S. R. Crockett, author of " The Raiders," 
" The Stickit Minister," etc., etc. i6mo, 
with frontispiece by McCullough. Cloth, 1 00 

IbarvarD Stories 

Sketches of the Undergraduate. By W. K. 

Post. Third edition. i2mo, paper . . 50 
Cloth 1 00 

Bges Xifce tbe Sea 

By Maurus J6kai. (The great Hungarian 
Novelist.) An Autobiographical Romance. 
Translated from the Hungarian by Nisbet 
Bain. i2mo 1 00 

XLbc Storg of ■flBargre'oel 

Being a Fireside History of a Fifeshire Family. 
By D. Storrar Meidrum. Third edition. 

i6mo, paper 50 

Cloth 1 00 

Bn 2iltar of Bartb 

By Thymol Monk, published simultaneously in 
New York and London. With frontispiece 
by McCullough. i6mo, cloth . . . 100 

XLbc TUpper ^Sertb 

By F. Marion Crawford. (No. I. in the Auto- 
nym Library.) 32mo, limp cloth . . 50 

G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
New York & London 



Boofes b£ Elbert fmbbarfc 



no Bnemg: JBut Ifoimself 

The Romance of a Tramp. Twenty-eight 
full-page illustrations. Bound in ornamen- 
tal cloth, $1.50. 

The New York Herald of Sept. 2, the Philadelphia 
Press of Sept. 23, the Rochester Herald of Sept. 15, 
and several other papers have each given two columns 
or more to reviews of " No Enemy." 



©ne 2>ag 

Bound in ornamental cloth, 75 cents. 

The Cincinnati Commercial Gazette in its issue of 
May 12, 1894, says : " ' One Day ' is a dear little book 
all bound in dainty blue and silver. The beauty of 
the cover is only a hint of the sweetness and delicacy 
of the story. You can read it in an hour, but its 
lesson of sympathy will benefit you for years." 

The Philadelphia Times of April 21, 1894, says: 
" It is a coarse sketch of Western life, and includes 
an obnoxious burlesque on an impossible preacher. 
It is a book that every library can do without." 



jForbes of 1ban>arZ> 

Cloth, bound in Harvard colors, $1.25. 

This book is meeting with fair sale. A few of the 
critics have spoken well of it. 



Ofy 



BOOKS 



In their Retail Department, Messrs. G. P. 
Putnam's Sons have always on hand an ex- 
tensive stock of American and English books 
covering every department of literature. A 
special feature is their collection of rare 
books in good second-hand condition, to 
which additions are constantly being made. 
Catalogues sent on application. 

Liberal terms to schools and libraries. 

Special attention given to the requirements 
of individual buyers. 

In connection with their own bindery, 
Messrs. Putnam possess exceptional facili- 
ties for the execution of orders for fine 
bindings. 

Correspondence solicited. 



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